The Finest Line

by Catherine Taylor

Mairead looked at James and could not suppress a smile. “You read my lips.”

  “Oh yes, quite clearly. I also remember promising you a well smacked bottom if you ever used profanity again. To this date, I have never delivered on that promise but if you don’t get off that chair and get yourself ready to go out, you will discover very painfully, that I am a man of my word.”

  Even in depression, Mairead felt her naughty little girl awaken. “You didn’t scare me then and you certainly don’t scare me now. I don’t have to do anything you tell me.”

  James smirked. “I’m going to count to three and if you are not out of that chair, you are going to find yourself over my knee.” His gaze bore into her, “One.”

  Depression was gone and her defiance was making a strong return. “You have some nerve talking to me like that.”

  “Two.”

  Mairead felt the tingles in her backside and squirmed in her seat. “Stop it. I don’t believe for a second you would even try.”

  He was about to say ‘Three’ when Mairead leapt from the chair. “Alright, I’m up.” She frowned and pouted. “Really James, you take way too many liberties with me. You should try to remember that in reality you are only my chauffeur.”

  James smiled, “I will endeavour to do just that.”

  Mairead tried to gather some dignity. “I believe some fresh air would do me some good. I choose that we should go to the market and not because I feel in any sense, intimidated by you.”

  Her jellied legs threatened to betray her as she walked to the bathroom. Only when the door was shut behind her was she even able to breathe again.

  As usual, James was right about the market. The rows of brightly coloured marquees and the smells of fast food and fresh produce, reminded Mairead that life could be really good. Each stall had new discoveries and her troubles were soon forgotten as she browsed amongst the treasures.

  Every now and then she stole a glance at James and his new attire. He had exchanged his stuffy suit for a t-shirt and jeans, though he still remained hidden behind dark sunglasses. Mairead had changed back to her shorts and tank top with a wide-brimmed hat that James had planted firmly on her head with a glare that had dared her to take it off. Now they blended in with the crowd and Mairead was able to thoroughly enjoy her time.

  Her appetite had returned and she began to look at the food stalls to discover whatever her body was yearning for. After a long time of bad eating, fresh fruit looked extremely desirable.

  A helpful Italian vendor produced a carton which Mairead began to fill with strawberries, blueberries, apples and grapes. The vendor advised her of each fruit in season and constantly popped morsels in her mouth to taste.

  He showed her a box of cherries and declared with a deeply passionate face. “Best season in many, many year and each one so big and juicy and tasty.”

  Mairead grinned as she looked at them. There were so many different shades, from bright red to almost black.” She selected a dark one and held it up to James.

  “Gosh James,” Mairead spoke out loud, feigning disappointment. “Is this the colour you had in mind when you threatened to beat my arse? That’s kind of brutal.”

  The vendor gave James a worried glance and took hold of Mairead’s hand. “Come and I will pack this together for you.”

  She went with him, grinning back at James whose brow was narrowed in a frown, “Is there anything you would like James, a lemon perhaps or some sour grapes?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Mairead paid for her purchases and the vendor added a plastic fork and a little tub of chocolate dipping sauce to the box.

  “For a beautiful lady,” The vendor beamed. “Enjoy, enjoy.” He leaned in close to her. “Is everything alright?”

  She smiled. “Everything is fine.”

  When she returned to James he took her arm and led her away, leaning down to speak into her ear. “Don’t do that again or your question might just be answered.”

  Butterflies danced in her stomach and she knew it was not from hunger. Her curiosity was growing with his threats. She blushed deeply as she felt the stirrings between her legs and wished that she did not have this unnatural interest.

  They found a lawn area where other people were enjoying picnics and children were running about. Nearby a band was playing Celtic music.

  Mairead sat down on the grass and looked up at James. “Are you going to sit down or hover over me?”

  James sat down and surveyed the area around them whilst Mairead eagerly ripped the seal from the tub of chocolate sauce. She pushed the fruit box towards James. “Dig in.”

  “Breakfast was quite sufficient, thank you Miss Kavanagh.”

  Mairead smiled. “You know James; I really like it when on the very rare occasion you call me Mairead, even though it’s usually when you’re telling me off.”

  “Using first names denotes a familiarity and I do try to maintain professionalism at all times.”

  Mairead laughed loudly. “I think you’ve already crossed that line of familiarity on one or two occasions.”

  James sighed. “Yes. You do seem to be able to stimulate my temperament somewhat... Miss Kavanagh.”

  “Do I now... Mr. Vaughn?”

  James shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what Mr. Vaughn?” Mairead looked bewildered.

  James expelled a very long breath. “Mairead, if you would kindly eat your lunch so that we may depart soon I would be most obliged. I have several arrangements to make for our travel and some of your belongings still to collect and that must all be done this afternoon.”

  “Of course James,” Mairead beamed. “Mairead is definitely more co-operative than Miss Kavanagh.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” James had spoken quietly with his face turned away from her but Mairead heard and promptly popped up strawberry into her mouth to suppress a giggle.

  On the return to the car, Mairead continued to stop at stalls as interesting items caught her eye. James waited patiently but walked faster each time she was ready to move on.

  She was surprised when it was James that stopped at a marquee where a variety of antiques and bric-a-brac was displayed.

  “Do you like old stuff James?” Mairead asked.

  “I appreciate a time when things were made with precision and craft, hence the fact that they are still around today.” James took several minutes to look at a writing desk, running his hands along the wood and the carved inlays of grapevines and inspecting the dove tail joints on the drawers.

  The vendor was an old man in a tweed suit and bow tie and he joined James at the desk. Mairead sighed when she saw them begin to talk and busied herself by looking at some pretty tea cups and porcelain figurines on display. When she looked back, she saw James paying for something, still chatting with the vendor who was looking very happy.

  Finally James shook hands with the old man, collected a bag from him and rejoined Mairead.

  “What did you buy?” Mairead asked.

  “I arranged for that desk to be shipped to New Zealand.”

  “But it’s old,” Mairead was confused.

  “Yes it is, seventeenth century in fact.”

  Mairead looked at the bag in James’ hand. “And what’s in there?”

  James passed her the bag and Mairead reached in and drew out a hairbrush. It had a brass ornate handle which led to a wide brush, the bristles yellow with age. Mairead thought it ugly until she turned it over and saw the pretty little pink roses on a white surface. She tapped it and found it to be very hard.

  “Is that ivory?”

  James shook his head. “Guilloche enamelling, a process no longer used today.”

  “You’re not going to brush your hair with it, are you?”

  “It’s a gift for a friend.”

  Mairead frowned. The friend was undoubtedly female and she had never really thought of James being with women. He was always with Mairead and her father, though she knew James took every second weeke
nd off and was away for two weeks at Christmas. It didn’t seem enough time to have any female friends.

  She posed her question casually, “Is she your girlfriend?”

  He shook his head and smirked, “No, but she is my dearest friend and I care for her very much.”

  Mairead looked up at James. It bothered her somewhat that he had this woman with whom he socialised and had fun with, rather than this silly girl that he was paid to drive around and keep out of trouble.

  “I suppose you two hang out on your days off?”

  James shook his head. “Vanessa lives in England and I haven’t seen her for quite a while. However, I have arranged two weeks leave when we return to New Zealand. Vanessa is coming over and we’re meeting up in Wellington.”

  Mairead smiled thinly. “Sounds like you’ll have a great time.”

  “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

  By the time they reached the car, Mairead’s cheerfulness had dulled. Thinking over the day, the breakfast they had shared and their time at the market, it no longer seemed so wonderful. James had a friend with whom he shared real good times and didn’t maintain a professional exterior.

  With Mairead, James was doing what he was paid to do. Admittedly, his care of her sometimes went beyond the call of duty, but in the end Mairead had to look at it for what it was.

  There was a reason he preferred to call her by her surname, why he had never shared a meal with her and why his conversation was always brief and to the point. She was the boss’s daughter and he was her certified minder and chauffeur, and in James’ mind, their relationship extended no further.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When they got back to the hotel, James was busy making phone calls and Mairead reluctantly watched some television. She felt irritable and couldn’t understand why this friend of James bothered her so much.

  “I have to go out,” James announced.

  “I’ll come with you.” Mairead jumped up from the recliner but waned as James shook his head.

  “I have too much to do and I would prefer you to stay here.”

  “But...” Mairead didn’t want to be on her own.

  “Mairead, I can get things done much quicker without having to watch out for you. There are media still hanging around the hotel and I must insist that you stay in the room while I’m gone.” He smiled at her gloomy face. “I’ll only be a couple of hours.”

  When he had left Mairead felt the full weight of loneliness descend upon her. With it came unwelcome memories and she flicked through the channels on the television to try and divert her attention.

  When that didn’t work, Mairead jumped up from the recliner and began to wander around the room. Stretching her arms up high above her head, she bent down placing her palms on the floor, allowing them to take her weight as she pulled her legs up.

  Whilst in a hand stand, she opened her legs and did the splits and then brought them back together before tucking her head under and rolling to a sitting position. It felt wonderful and she repeated the exercise, this time walking her hands and turning her body full circle before rolling down. From her sitting position she stretched her legs wide and bent down until her head and upper body touched the carpet and her arms reached out.

  Mairead was pleased that the last two weeks without training hadn’t left her too rusty. Instead, she felt the rest had benefited her after three months of the gruelling regime of the Australian Gymnastics Squad.

  She thought angrily of her trainer, Thalia Lindsay, who had been the sole reason she had been kicked out. The woman was insane and cruel, and Mairead the target of her torment. On many occasions, Mairead had been left battered and bruised from impossible moves that Thalia had insisted on. When one of those moves had left her with a black eye and swollen lip, after crashing head first into the lower of the uneven bars, Mairead had been angry.

  It had meant a night in hospital for observation and no reprise from Thalia who wanted her back at training the next day. Instead, Mairead had allowed herself a week off and hung up every time Thalia had called her.

  During her self-appointed holiday, Mairead had attended several night clubs and attracted a little media attention from a few disorderly behaviours.

  On her return to the sporting complex, Thalia had given Mairead her marching orders. Her response had been to finally tell her trainer her opinion of the woman’s sexuality, weight, promiscuity and mentality. Unfortunately, her tirade had been in front of a large audience, including two journalists who were visiting that day.

  Mairead flushed as she remembered some unflattering photos that had appeared in the papers. To hell with them; right now all she needed was some good exercise. She was aware that the hotel had its own gym and with her yearning for exercise she hurried to her bedroom and changed into her sports bra top and matching capris.

  James would be gone for two hours which gave her more than enough time to work out, shower and be sitting back in front of the television when he returned.

  Leaving the room was liberating and Mairead ran, cart wheeled and somersaulted down the length of the hall leading to the lift. Inside, she bounced about but settled when the doors opened on a lower floor.

  She was joined by a plump older housemaid who looked at her fearfully. As the lift started to move the woman began to cry. Mairead reached out and gently placed her hand on her shoulder.

  “Are you alright? Has something happened?”

  The maid cried harder and nodded, “The little dog, Mrs. Chapman’s little dog, Timmy.”

  “What about the little dog?”

  “He got out!” She threw her arms up in defeat. “I just open the door to clean the room and he ran. He was so fast. Everyone is searching for him.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  The housemaid shook her head. “No, no, no. You mustn’t. You’re a guest here. I am already in so much trouble. I’m going to lose my job.”

  Mairead was horrified. “But it’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

  “My manager is very angry. Mrs. Chapman is very angry. She told me I would never get work again in the hotels.”

  “Mrs. Chapman sounds like a right bitch.” Mairead put her arm around her. “I’m going to help you.”

  The doors of the lift opened to a foyer where hotel staff was dashing about frantically. Mairead and the housemaid were about to step out into the chaos, when the manager and a valet ran towards them. The manager called out to other staff.

  “He’s been located. He’s still on the tenth floor but he got out onto the scaffolding.” The manager halted when he saw Mairead and shot a glare to the housemaid. “My apologies Miss Kavanagh, but we’ve had a small incident with a dog.”

  He stepped back so she could get out but Mairead stepped back into the lift.

  “I’ve heard. I want to see for myself.”

  The manager looked as if he wanted to argue but changed his mind and got in with the valet. The housemaid moved closer to Mairead and stood silently.

  Upon arrival to the tenth floor, Mairead followed the manager as he ran toward the end of the hallway. The area was cordoned off with signs warning of danger and closures for renovations.

  Hurrying past the signs, the manager led them to a large area which had been stripped down to bare walls and windows, at which were gathered a number of staff. The large windows were mostly sealed but at each end they allowed a smaller section to open outwardly.

  Beyond the windows, Mairead could see the extensive beams, pipe work and timber boards of the scaffolding. On one board, several feet out, sat a Chihuahua shivering and staring at them.

  Other valets and housemaids were gathered at the opened sections calling out to him. Every now and then the little dog would get up and walk to the end of the board which led to a network of thin steel railing, no wider than a few inches. He would take a tentative step, change his mind and walk to the other end of the board and look as if he was about to jump to another board which was at least two feet away and spanned
a deathly height.

  Each time he did this, the staff called to him desperately. Joining their pleas was an old woman in tailored pant suit, pearls and designer shoes. She cried bitterly each time the dog returned to sit on the plank. Mairead figured that this was Mrs. Chapman.

  The housemaid had finally caught up to them and upon seeing the situation, burst into a fresh round of tears. The manager turned and glared at her. “Shut up Anna.”

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Mairead was furious. “This is not her fault.”

  “Miss Kavanagh...” the manager began.